Jeepers Creepers: Liber Antithei
by Rina
Summary: My own version of the sequel to the movie.
1. Default Chapter

Jeepers Creepers: Liber Antithei   
  
Jeepers Creepers is copyrighted by MGM. No copyright infringement is intended; this is just a nonprofit   
fanfiction that I did for fun.   
  
"I don't know, Trish," Darry Jenner reluctantly said, watching with worried eyes as his older sister   
sauntered across the field, the high grass coming up to her waist. Patricia turned, golden-brown hair   
whipping around her head in the warm summer breeze.   
"C'mon." She smiled, even though he was dead.   
Nothing but a corpse, a rotting husk that had once been her sibling...   
He certainly didn't look like one now, for his moved with lively energy, his dark eyes gleaming with   
vitality. Maybe the whole thing had been a nightmare, Trish thought, losing herself in this surreal world,   
this beautiful place that smelled faintly of honeydew. This was Eden, a paradise on earth, and she could feel   
her brother's warm skin against her own as she embraced him.   
"Some-something's wrong," he whispered, as she closed her eyes to stop the hot tears that threatened to   
run down her face.   
"We're together now."  
There was no reply; not even the sound of Darry's breathing.   
Trish smelled the coppery odor of blood before she felt the thick liquid running down her arms, her   
chest, tainting her skin with her foulness. Terrified, she groped at her body, felt the horrible stickiness. Her   
stomach nearly threw up its contents when she opened her eyes. Darry, much to her horror, still slumped   
against her, his head pitifully resting on her shoulder. There were two gaping sockets where his eyes had   
been, weeping tears of blood down his slack face.   
"Darry!"  
Pathetically she tried to feel for his pulse, but found none. The little world was spinning out of control   
now, and she collapsed to her knees, her brother's crimson gore staining her shirt.   
"Oh, God," Trish moaned, rolling her eyes upwards helplessly. Someone appeared, though he was far   
from anything holy; she recognized the hideous creature, a grotesque mockery of anything human. It   
latched onto her hair with razor claws, pulling her from her dead brother, its pale eyes wide with malicious   
triumph.   
Despite the fact that she was powerless, held like a puppet in the hands of an adult, she still screamed   
with fury, trying to tear out the pale eyes of the monster that murdered Darry. Teeth like yellow needles,   
glistening with slime, were revealed as the demon pulled back its withered lips, holding her tightly. She had   
time to scream before the mouth yawned open, burying itself in her own.   
  
The sweaty sheets were tangled around her body when she awoke, heart hammering in her ribcage. Her   
room was dark, the only light coming from the crescent moon outside of her window. Trish was breathing   
hard, and tried to concentrate as she told herself that it was a dream, nothing more. Slowly she laid back   
down, resting her head on the damp pillow.   
There was no use telling herself that Darry was alive, for he was not. She knew it in her heart, in her   
soul. Her brother was lost forever to her, but she still had one thing, something that burned deep inside, a   
hot ember that was only fed by her sorrow.  
Revenge. 


	2. Chapter 2

Trish's eyes were glazed, her head limply lying in her folded arms as her father paced the length of the   
hotel room. Behind him, she and her mother sat at a tiny table, watching as he spoke hurriedly to the   
policeman in the doorway. Mrs. Jenner's eyes were a livid red from constant sobbing, and her trembling   
hands broke off pieces of a blueberry muffin, more out of nervousness than actual hunger.  
"We're trying, Mr. Jenner. But there's no sign of your son," the officer apologized, and Trish couldn't help   
but notice how much he resembled that other cop, the one who had…Jesus, she could still see the monster   
eating his tongue…  
She gagged and buried her head deeper into her arms.   
"There's no sign of him," the policeman continued, and Trish's father looked up, half angry and half   
sorrowful.   
"What the hell happened that night?"  
"W-we don't know yet, sir. We're still investigatin-,"  
"Go," her father said softly, rubbing her eyes. "Just go."  
"We'll try to keep you informed," the officer told him, looking sympathetically at Trish and her mother.   
Trish didn't even pay attention as he left; beside her, Mrs. Jenner dropped the crumbled muffin and began   
to weep again.   
There was a silence.  
"Alice, we have to go home. We've been here for two weeks, and there's been no sign of-," her father   
stopped, unable to say his name.   
Trish looked up, her eyes sparkling more with rage than sadness.   
"Darry."  
Her mother's weeping worsened, until she was nearly choking on her own tears.   
"W-w-we ca-can't go. He's-he's still alive, we'll f-find him," her mother's voice was strangled, and Trish   
couldn't stand to see the look of suffering on her face. She turned away, felt bile rise up in her throat.   
"Honey," her father said, trying to mollify her. He paused when he saw Trish rise, her expression utterly   
unreadable.   
"Where are you going?" he demanded, pushing back his disheveled gray hair with one weary hand.   
"Out."   
Normally her father would have argued with her, but now he just slumped down onto a bed. Trish   
scooped up her keys off of the cheap dresser, feeling as though she would vomit. She was keenly aware of   
her own breathing, how loud and furious it was. Her keys pushed up into the skin of her hand as she   
walked. Past the front desk, past the doors, out into the parking lot where the spring sun beat down on the   
cars.  
Her car was horribly wrecked, but she got in anyway, slamming the door beside her. At first, Trish did   
nothing but grip the steering wheel in her hand, looking straight ahead unseeingly. Oh, Darry. It should   
have been me, she thought, grinding her teeth, the demon should have taken me…  
She started the car.   
My God, she thought pulling out of the parking lot, why hast thou abandoned me? Dammit, good was   
supposed to triumph over evil, wasn't it? The whole thing was screwed up, and she was beginning to   
believe that if there was some kind of deity, it was a sadistic one.   
The radio was on; she could hear some preacher talking, and she quickly changed it. The next channel   
was all static, and the one after that was a news report. She kept it on that station as she headed down the   
road, all alone.   
"…the FBI has been called in to investigate the so-called 'Poho Massacre', in which several citizens and   
police officers were killed -,"  
She flipped the channel again. It was a song.  
"Jeepers, creepers....where'd ya get them peepers. Oh, those weepers....how they hypnotize."  
Trish slammed on her brakes, the tires shrieking.  
"Jesus Christ," she spat, turning the radio off. "When's it going to stop?"  
  
Alton, Nebraska  
"Hey, Larry. Come look at the sky," Norman Lewis called out to his friend, who was currently tinkering   
with the engine of a beat-up truck.   
"The hell are you blabberin' about?" Larry demanded, looking out from underneath the truck's hood, his   
face smeared with oil and sweat.   
Norman raised the Budweiser can to his lips and gulped some of the warm beer before answering.   
"The sky's all reddish."  
"So?" Larry sounded annoyed as he glanced past the hood at his comrade.   
"I never saw the sky that color before."   
Larry craned his head to look up at the crimson-tinted sky, his eyes widening. The clouds, the sky--all   
were a dark red, the color of fresh blood.   
"Jesus," he commented, scratching his dark hair, "That is weird. I wonder what the hell's going on."   
"Maybe there's bad weather comin'."  
"Maybe," Larry agreed slowly, stepping away from the truck.   
"C'mon. Let's go see if Donna's done with dinner yet."  
"Yeah. Sure." Larry wiped his greasy hands on a ragged towel and followed his friend inside of the house,   
where Norman's wife was mashing potaoes and watching Jerry Springer.   
"You watchin' that shit again, Donna?" Norman asked, jerking his thumb toward the screen. His wife   
pulled the cigarette from her mouth and replied, "Shut up. It's more interesting than you."  
"Is dinner almost ready?"  
"It'll be ready soon. Goddamn, quit yer complaining."  
She turned back to her show, only to see it disappear in a storm of static. Cursing, she arose from the   
kitchen table and began pounding the small television set.   
"What the hell's wrong with this goddamn piece of shit?" she muttered furiously, tapping the screen.   
"It's probably the antenna. I'll go look at it," Norman offered, stepping back outside.   
"This is just great," Donna said angrily, mashing the lumpy potatoes.  
"He'll have it fixed in a second," Larry told her.   
He didn't. In fact, Norman had been gone for a full ten minutes before Larry finally started toward the   
door.   
"Where the hell is he?" Donna demanded, her teeth clamped down on her cigarette.   
"I'll go see," Larry offered, heading to the door.   
"Wait. There he is. The son of a bitch is just standing outside of the window." Donna poked her head   
outside of the window to clearly see her husband, and Larry froze when she began screaming.   
"What is it? What's going on?"   
"He's dead! Oh my God, he's dead!"   
Larry sprinted to the window and gazed out, only to see his friend slumped over the hood of the truck, his   
back ripped wide open to reveal his spinal cord. Norman's white t-shirt was stained red, the same color as   
the bizarre sky, and Larry felt his stomach threaten to regurgitate its contents.  
"W-we hafta call the police," he managed, feeling his breakfast coming up. Donna nodded, terrified, then   
moved toward the window once more, studying the yard. Larry had picked up the phone and started dialing   
when he saw the giant figure appear outside of the open window, snatching Donna before he could turn   
completely around. She wailed, kicking, as she was dragged out. Larry ran to the window and much to his   
horror, saw the worst thing that he could have ever imagined.   
At first glance, he thought it was a man. But it was too big to be one. That, and it had bluish-gray skin,   
the most God-awful color he had ever seen. Donna was on the ground, screeching, as the thing clamped its   
mouth on her contorted face.A sickening rip followed as the huge monster jerked its head violently back,   
taking most of the woman's face with it.   
Larry heard the phone drop from his numb fingers onto the floor as he watched, petrified.   
The gigantic animal-man turned its ugly head, Donna's blood dripping down its chin. The poor woman was   
still twitching in its arms, her face a gory ruin. Its dark eyes stared into Larry's for a few heartbeats, then it   
spread its horrible bat wings and took off.   
  
The Sprite that she had bought at the tiny store tasted terrible, flat with a metallic undertaste. But Trish was   
thirsty, and she forced herself to drink the soda. As she quickly drank it, looking out of the store's glass   
window, she noticed for the first time how the sky had taken on a maroon color.  
"Strange, ain't it?" The plump woman behind the counter commented as she restocked the shelves of   
candy.   
"The sky?" Trish sipped the soda, finished it. "Yeah. I never saw the sky that color."   
"It's a bad omen, I say," the woman replied, opening a box of Twizzlers and placing them on a shelf.   
"Uh-huh," Trish agreed, tossing the plastic Sprite bottle into the trash. She continued to gaze out the   
window. There was something in the air, some horrible feeling that soaked through the pores of her skin   
and froze her blood.   
The woman at the counter turned on an old fashioned radio, humming to the country music that played on   
it.   
"So where are ya goin', hun?" She asked, and Trish moved to face her.   
"I was going…to find someone. But I can't find him," she admitted softly. "I've been driving for hours."   
"Do you know where he lives? Maybe I can help ya get there."  
"That's the problem. I don't."  
The chubby woman just raised one painted eyebrow.   
Trish assumed that the conversation was ended, for no more words were exchanged. As she was studying   
the odd sky through the window, she heard the radio DJ talking about some awful tragedy.   
She listened.  
"Reports are still coming in from Alton concerning the brutal murders that took place this afternoon. One   
witness claims it was the work of some large animal with wings."  
Trish smiled humorlessly. She had just found the son of a bitch. Without wasting any time, she bought a   
small roadmap and started for Alton.  
  
Alton, Nebraska   
Matthew Hawn was having a very bad day. It had started in the morning, when he had stubbed his toe on   
his bedpost, then spilled coffee on his pants and, to top it off, got yelled at by the chief for being late to   
work.   
Now he felt nauseous as he looked at the dried brown blood caked on the hood of the truck. He had only   
seen one dead body since becoming a police officer, and that had been a teenager who had killed herself by   
overdosing on pills. While the adolescent had obviously died in peace, her young body unscathed (at least   
on the outside, the victims here had been pureed alive. Blood stained the truck, the grass; droplets were   
even flung on the side of the house.  
Matt's partner was questioning the only witness, a quivering man who was deathly pale.  
"So it resembled a man?" Matt's partner, Rodney Har, inquired.   
"Yeah. It looked like a man, but it wasn't. I already told the other officer that-,"  
"Uh-huh." The policeman scibbled down some notes on his pad. "Well, then. What did it look like?"   
"I dunno. Kinda big, with wings and teeth like a bear."  
"Uh-huh."   
Hawn moved around one of the members of the forensic team, who was meticulously bagging samples.   
The fetid stink of death was strong, and he struggled not to gag. He gazed past the crime scene, only to see   
a girl with light brown hair standing on the side of the street. There was an odd look in her eye, one of   
deranged determination and complete lack of fear.   
"Can I help you?"  
The tall girl did not answer, choosing instead to look past him at the bloody crime scene.   
"It's horrible," she whispered.   
"Yeah."   
The teenager looked up at him, her brown eyes clouded with intense fury. When she spoke, her voice was   
low and strangled by the emotions that she was obviously holding back.   
"I know who did it."  
Matt glanced over at her, suddenly unnerved. There was something creepy about her, something that   
frightened him although he hated to admit it. Perhaps it was the intensity of her gaze, or the hatred that   
shone so brightly in her dark eyes.   
"It was the same thing that killed my brother." Her soft voice had become bitterer, if that was humanly   
possible.   
"Uh-,"  
"Tell me," she said, looking up, her face pale. "Are there any abandoned buildings around here?"  
Matt was startled by the oddness of the question. He scratched his crewcut, nodding.  
"I guess so. There's an old plant about three miles from here. Why?"  
The slender girl turned and walked back to her car, a beat-up vehicle that looked as though it had been   
driven straight out of the 1950s. All the while Matt watched her, suspicious. Why the hell would someone   
ask such a question? He wondered. Unless, of course, that person planned to do something where no one   
would see…The weird girl started her car, and Matt walked toward his own.  
"Hey, where ya going?" Har called out, shoving the notebook into his pocket.   
"I need to check out something."  
Har watched as his partner drove away quickly, shaking his head as he did so.   
"Poor guy can't take a little gore," he muttered to himself. 


	3. Chapter 3

Night had fallen over the countryside, the sky now inky black with a slight tinge of red. Trish had turned   
the radio off a long time ago, and the only noise was the purring of her car's engine. She couldn't stop   
thinking up Darry, knowing that he was dead but hoping that he hadn't suffered.  
That psychic, Jezelle, had told her that one of them would die horribly with that infernal song playing in the   
background, and it was supposed to be her. Trish knew, somehow, that the she had been the monster's first   
choice, but for some reason it had chosen her brother instead.   
Why?  
She did not know the reason, but at least she had an idea as to where the demon could be. It liked hiding   
in abandoned places, that much she knew for sure. And what better place to hide than an abandoned plant,   
conveniently close to its food source and where no human was likely to go?   
It was difficult to see the map while driving, but Trish managed. The map was detailed enough for her to   
see the old industrial plant—Hollands Packaging. She searched carefully until she found it, a sprawling   
plant that had been left to rot.   
Gravel crunched under the wheels of the car as she parked on the side of the road. Trish sat in her car for   
what seemed like eternity, listening. There was no one around, and she got out, gently closing the door and   
then searching for a hole in the fence that surrounded the plant.   
Luckily for her, the lock on one of the gates was rusted, and she was able to sneak inside. She found that it   
was easy to break into the main plant itself, and once she was inside, she pulled out the tiny flashlight that   
she had taken from her glove compartment.  
The inside of the plant was hot, the air pungent with the smell of mildew. The gold light from Trish's   
flashlight outlined the bare pipes that grew from the walls, water dribbling from most of them and   
splashing down onto the concrete floor.   
At first, she only heard the sound of her own footsteps. Eventually, though, she could make out singing,   
and when she made out the lyrics, she felt a cold hand of terror plunge into her chest.   
"Jeepers Creepers, where'd ya get those peepers…"   
The light was moving wildly over the walls as her hand violently shook.  
The scratchy song played on, and Trish steadied her hand, drawing deep breaths of the humid air. The   
monster was here, so close, and her revenge became almost tangible. As if in a trance, Trish followed the   
horrid music, her shoes splashing in the puddles on the floor.   
"…how they hypnotize…"  
There was an orange light in the distance, an unearthly light that seemed to belong more in the bowels of   
Hell rather than here. The dank air grew hotter as she quietly approached, the foul reek of blood and decay   
increasing with the heat. Any sense of self-preservation had dwindled away, and now the sweet promise of   
vengeance drove her on into the gruesome chamber.   
The cavernous room looked like the Marquis de Sade's most demented nightmare, a demonic torture   
room complete with victims. Bodies and pieces of them hung from the walls, faces trapped in expressions   
of pain and skin stretched out to form an unholy mosaic . The air, oh God, the air was thick with the   
cloying stink of death, and all around her that song played.   
She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath of the slaughterhouse air.  
When she opened them again, she saw him.   
"Darry," she choked, allowing the flashlight to fall to the concrete floor. Trish didn't hear it hit, for all her   
attention was focused on her brother's corpse, obscenely hung up like a trophy.   
Her cheeks were numb, or she would have felt the tears stream down her face.   
Trish turned away, strangled by her own sorrow, and came face-to-face with the monster.   
It towered over her, clad in the dark trench coat that it had wore the night it chased Darry and her. So close   
to her the demon was, in fact, that she could make out the individual wrinkles of its blue-gray skin. Its dark   
eyes peered into her own.   
Neither moved for several seconds.   
"You fuckin' bastard!" Trish screamed, breaking the silence. Snatching the knife from her pocket, she   
hurled it with all of her strength, only to see it bounce harmlessly off of the giant monster. The demon   
howled with rage and smashed her against a wall, its razor teeth inches from her neck.   
"Why the hell didn't you take me instead?" Trish demanded, her vision blurred by tears. The hulking   
monster didn't answer as it came slightly closer.   
"Why?" she whispered, watching as the beast snorted, its eyes trailing down the length of her body with   
...God, it seemed like lust...its hand moved hesitantly toward her brow, and she spit directly in its eye,   
laughing as the demon screeched and reared back.   
"Like that, fuckface?"  
The bat wings ripped through the fabric of the monster's trench coat, spreading wide as the Creeper   
howled its fury. Trish ground her teeth, prepared to take the beating that was coming, and then jumped up   
in astonishment when she heard three gunshots, each seperated by a few seconds. Roaring, the winged   
thing jerked as if it were a marionette held by an insane puppeteer, and she could see the young policeman,   
his face ashen with fear and his pistol drawn.   
Like some God-awful spider, the monster sprang up, nimbly grabbing the pipes overhead and angling   
itself to face them, hissing madly. The officer aimed again, hitting the ugly creature but only managing to   
enrage it further.   
"Jesus Christ," he cried. "What the hell is that thing?"  
When Trish didn't say anything, he grabbed her by the arm, yanking her toward the door.   
"Let me go!" She protested, struggling. The Creeper, holding onto the pipes overhead, advanced toward   
them, its eyes wide with bloodlust. Without thinking about it twice, the policeman fired once more, missing   
the huge monster but hitting one of the pipes. Thick white steam hissed, escaping from the ruptured pipe   
and distracting the winged thing.   
"We gotta get out of here!" He declared, pulling her along.   
"Get your hands off of me!"  
Trish put up a good fight, but the officer was several inches taller and much stronger. Once they were   
outside, he started toward his car, telling her that he was calling for backup. She stubbornly marched back   
toward the plant, only to stop when she caught sight of the fire.  
It was small, but quickly grew, fed by the ruins of the industrial plant until it was a full inferno. Trish   
balled her fists in frustration, watching as the bright red flames consumed everything in sight. The bastard   
did it again--had destroyed all evidence of his handiwork before he could be found out.   
At least Darry's body wasn't hung up like some...she felt her stomach churn. But she had missed her   
revenge, goddamnit. And it was all that officer's fault.   
"I called for backup," the policeman announced, wiping the sweat from his forehead, the fear still evident   
in his expression. Trish smiled, ambled right up to him, and cocked her fist. The last thing that the cop saw   
before he was knocked unconscious and hit the rough gravel was her angry face.   
  
The hallway was long and dark; she felt a foreboding sense just from being here. Something forced her to   
move down the corridor, though, ignoring the pitiful cries that sounded behind the closed doors as she   
went. She was drawn to the wooden door at the end of the yellowed hallway, stopping long enough to grasp   
the knob and push it open.  
The room beyond was blanketed in heavy shadows, and all that she could see was a table with a book atop   
it, pale light streaming down and illuminating the maroon cover. From within the black shadows, she could   
make out whispering, increasing as she approached the little table.   
She touched the leather bound-book, felt a dark jolt travel through her arm. Images flashed before her   
eyes: a raven with demonic eyes, a gigantic house near a bayou, and the winged creature that had   
butchered that poor boy. Frightened, she pulled her hand away from the red book, panting with fear;   
suddenly, she knew what the book was, even though it had no name on its cover.  
Liber Antithei. The Book of the Devil.  
She gazed down at the book, watched as it opened by itself, the worn pages flipped by an invisible hand.   
There were more pictures, this time going by much faster. Revenge, a spell, portal, treachery...death...She   
saw the raven fly at her face, oozing out from the shadows like liquid ink. As soon as it hit, its sharp talons   
digging into her vulnerable eyes, she understood and awoke with a start. Jezelle got out of bed as swifty as   
possible, startling her old golden retriever. She had to talk to Patricia, now.   
  
"She's pacin' by the telephone   
In her faded flannel gown   
Asking for miracle..."  
Trish had never really liked Garth Brooks, but she preferred him to that damn "Jeepers Creepers" song   
anyday. She gazed down at her watch and shifted her weight in the vinyl seat. It was nearly four in the   
morning and she was at some greasy diner, sitting at a table by herself and picking at a plate of cold   
chicken nuggets. She couldn't eat; all she could think about was Darry.   
She could only imagine the sheer terror that he had felt as the thing tore him to pieces. It should have been   
her in that plant, it should have been her body mounted on the wall. True, there would have been pain when   
the monster killed her, but it would have been brief. This agony, of knowing that her brother was dead   
while she was not, was much more horrible.  
She should have killed the monster responsible for all this death and suffering. But that officer, who had no   
idea what the hell he was doing, had prevented her from doing so. Scowling, she pushed a nugget around   
her plastic plate, looking up when the door opened.   
"Well, well. Speak of the devil," Trish said to herself, smiling bitterly.   
It was the young cop himself. She hadn't realized how much she had hurt him until he stepped into the   
fluorescent light, his left eye spotted with a dark brownish-purple bruise. He scanned the room until he saw   
her, then preceded to angrily march in her direction.   
"I should arrest you right here," he snarled, pointing one finger in her direction.   
"Go on."   
The young policeman puffed out like an enraged rooster, placing both hands on the top of the table and   
leaning forward to look into her eyes.   
"Listen, I don't know what the hell your problem is. I saved your life, and you repay me by giving me a   
blackeye?"  
Trish practically jumped up.   
"My problem? My problem," she screamed right in his face, liking how he winced, "is that I was trying to   
kill that thing in the factory! And you screwed it all up! I'll never find that monster again, thanks to you,   
jackass."  
The officer just swallowed hard.   
"And I bet you want to know why I was hunting it, right? It was because it killed my brother, and it'll kill   
a lot more people before it's through." Tears came to her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You should   
have left me back there."   
The cop's fury had softened into shame, and he looked at her pitifully.   
"God, I didn't know!"  
Trish sighed, her own anger abating.   
"Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Matthew Hawn. " He   
extended his hand.   
She didn't shake it, but replied, "Trish Jenner."   
One of the waitresses overheard this and walked over to the table.   
"Did you say your name was Trish Jenner?"  
"Yeah. Why?"  
"You have a phone call."   
Trish followed the waitress to the phone, feeling an odd sense of deja vu. She did not pick up the phone   
immediately; instead, she just looked down at it, feeling nervous. When she did answer it, she clutched the   
phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white.   
"Hello?"  
"Trish?Trish? This is Jezelle."   
"Jezelle?"  
"Listen, honey. I need to tell you somethin'."  
"What?" Trish asked, looking back at the officer.   
"I had another dream tonight."  
Trish was silent, feeling that old fear blossom once more within her chest.   
The psychic continued.   
"I know what it's after this time, Trish. And it's a lot worse than I feared."  
She was afraid to inquire what exactly that was, but forced herself to do it. Trish's eyes widened   
considerably as Jezelle whispered into the phone.   
"You've seen the sky, haven't you?"  
Trish gulped, agreeing that she had.   
"It's a sign, child. That monster's plannin' to do something, Trish, something awful. Something involving   
the liber antithei-,"  
"What the hell is that?"  
"An evil book that is supposed to have belonged to Satan himself. If the demon gets a hold of it-,"  
"Jesus."   
She toyed with a lock of hair nervously.   
"I know where it is, Trish."   
Trish felt excitement rise in her throat. Here was her second chance for revenge, and her voice quivered   
with anticipation.   
"Where?" 


	4. chapter 4

From the table, Matt watched Trish as her expression brightened. She was certainly pretty, with her golden-  
brown hair and svelte body. And he felt bad for earlier. What if she had been telling the truth? What if that   
winged monster really had killed her brother, and he had just gotten in her way?  
She hung the phone up and walked right past him.  
"Where are you going?" He asked, standing up and following her as she went outside.   
"Louisiana."  
"Louisiana?" Matt repeated.   
Trish said nothing more as she got into her old car.   
Matt tapped on the window, and she rolled it down, obviously annoyed.   
"What?"  
He answered without really thinking.   
"Are you going after it?"  
"Yeah. Why?"  
"I want to come with you."  
Trish did a double take.   
"Why the hell do you want to come with me?"  
He sighed.   
"This may sound strange," he said slowly, "but I want to make up for earlier."  
She wanted to laugh out loud, but found that she couldn't. Trish craned her head to look up at him in   
disbelief.   
"Are you insane?"  
He bent down closer, until she could see the blue of his eyes in the light.   
"No. If what you say is true, about that monster killing your brother and others, then it has to be stopped.   
I've sworn to protect people, right?"   
"I guess."  
"Then I have to stop it before it kills anyone else."  
She smiled slyly.  
"They didn't believe you, did they?"  
He was taken aback.   
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," he weakly protested.   
"Sure you do. No one at the police station believed you, did they? They just laughed and laughed, right?   
And now you want to prove them wrong."   
Matt flushed a dark red, his ears becoming a bright scarlet. Grinning, she opened the passenger door and   
motioned for him to get in.   
"I can see right through you," she said, smirking as she started the car.   
  
By the time the sun rose, the sky had returned to being a blood-red color. Jezebelle had said that the   
crimson sky was a bad omen, and Trish firmly believed her.   
"You were involved with the Poho Massacre, weren't you?"Matt broke the silence as he gingerly fingered   
his black eye.   
Trish said nothing for awhile, then reluctantly nodded.  
"Christ, it was that thing, wasn't it?"  
"Yes."  
Matt was silent, thinking. The only sound was the hum of the car underneath them.   
"What happened?" He finally inquired.  
"What?"  
"You know what I'm talking about."  
Trish tried to remain focused. At first, he thought that she would not answer, but was surprised when she   
did, her voice heavy with melancholy.   
"We were coming home from college, my brother and I. For some stupid reason, we decided to use a   
backroad. There was no one else on the road, really, so I was surprised when a huge rusted truck showed   
up."  
Matt felt a chill prick his neck.   
"T-the truck tried to run us off the road, but couldn't. We decided to get the hell out of there and fast, but   
then-," her voice dropped, her knuckles turning white from clutching the steering wheel so hard, " but then   
w-we saw it dumping bodies down a drain...."  
Matt could see her eyes well up with tears as she struggled to speak. "My brother Darry tried to be a   
hero and went back to rescue any survivors."She wiped her face. "But everyone was already dead. And the   
thing somehow knew that it was us that had been i-in the church. It started hunting us down."  
The young officer said nothing, although his face paled somewhat.  
"We met up with a psychic named Jezelle, who told us..." Trish stopped and made a choking sound. "S-she   
told us that either Darry or I would die. It should have been me; I know that the creature wanted me, but   
took Darry instead. I still don't know why..."  
"My God..."  
"I've been searching for the monster since then. I don't know if I can kill it, but I am sure gonna try." She   
paused for a moment, then said, "The person on the phone, back at the diner--that was Jezelle. She had   
another dream, and she's pretty sure where the thing's headed this time."  
"Louisiana, right?"  
"Yeah."  
"Why is it going there?"  
"Jezebelle told me that it was after something, some kind of book. The Liber Antithei or something like   
that--,"  
"The Liber Antithei? I heard of that."  
Trish gazed over at him, surprised.   
"How?"  
"I used to be a really big H.P. Lovecraft fan, and I read about that book in one of his lesser famous essays."  
"Well, what the hell is it?"  
"Supposedly, a book that can summon demons and open portals to other realms. I never really believed any   
of it. Then again, I never would have believed I'd see a creature like the one I saw at the plant."  
Matt chewed on his lip, thinking. "So how do we stop it?"  
It was slightly unnerving when she did not answer.   
  
They stopped at a gas station, where Trish called her parents' hotel room. She nonchalantly told them that   
she was going back to college, that she could not stand the sight of Poho County anymore. Her parents   
bought the excuse, too caught up in Darry's disappearance to notice anything else.  
She was immensely glad that she had remembered her ATM card. Trish used the cash that she had   
withdrawn to buy food, gas, and a detailed map of the United States. Once she had gotten back into the car,   
she looked over at Matt, who slept with his head slumped. The bruise around his eye was still dark, and she   
felt a stab of guilt at having been the one who had given it to him. There was a naiveté about him that   
reminded her so much of her dead brother. She bit her lip hard, until she couldn't stand the pain anymore,   
and started the old car.   
The drive was quiet, although not as uncomfortable as she would have imagined it to be with two strangers   
riding in a car together from Nebraska to Louisiana. As they passed from county to county, she couldn't   
help but notice how dark and heavy the red clouds were, yet not a single drop of rain fell to the earth.   
"You know," Matt said, breaking the heavy silence that had settled on the inside of the car like dense fog,   
"We really don't know anything about each other."  
"I guess not."  
"Tell me about yourself."  
"Me? I'm not that special." She tried to crack a smile but found that she couldn't. "Well, besides being   
chased by some god-awful monster, I'm a business student at the University of Nebraska. Both of my   
parents are still married, middle-class--I guess you could say that I lived the all-American life until a couple   
weeks ago. You?"  
He shrugged.   
"I'm a policeman, if you haven't figured that out. My whole life, though, I wanted to be a horror writer like   
Lovecraft, but I couldn't make a living off of it. So I became a cop."  
"Really? Have you written anything?"  
"Just a short story about a girl who descends into Hell."  
"Sounds like what we may be doing."  
The conversation ended at that. Most of the other countless hours were spent driving in eerie silence,   
punctuated by brief discussions here and there, with no real point to them. Trish found, however, that she   
was liking the man whom she had only recently met. There was an honesty to him that touched her, not to   
mention the fact that he was handsome, in a rugged sort of way.   
It took several days to reach Louisiana; Matt brought up a good point as they sat in IHOP, picking at their   
breakfasts.   
"So what part of Louisiana are we going to, anyway?"   
Trish swallowed her bite of fried eggs and replied, "Ladoneau. It's near New Orleans."  
"Did, uh, Jezelle tell you that?"  
"Yeah. She also told me to visit her friend, Christine D'Arbor, just before I hung up."   
"For what?"  
"She might be able to help us, since Jezelle can't be here herself."  
"Uh-huh." Matt poked at his syrup-drenched pancakes.  
Using the map that Trish had purchased earlier, they drove to Ladoneau ,a small town where many college   
students were spending their spring break. She felt a stab of jealousy as she drove past them, envying their   
innocent fun. What she would give to be like them again, to be ignorant of the evil that stalked the world,   
even now.   
The little house that they eventually found was located in a picturesque setting near a small pond.   
Drooping willows grew in the sprawling yard, filtering rays of deep yellow sunlight through their verdant   
leaves. A sign hung by the front door that read   
Christine D'Arbor  
Fortuneteller  
in purple letters. They moved toward the house and Trish pressed the buzzer beside the door. When no one   
answered, she cautiously opened it and found herself looking down a long hallway with a few benches   
lining the dark walls.   
"C'mon," she said, pulling Matt along. He reluctantly followed her into the dimly light house, nearly   
jumping out of his own skin when two girls their age appeared from one of the doorways. Giggling, they   
pushed past Trish and Matt and left. He still had his eyes on them when the woman stepped out from the   
same room.  
The woman that stood before them was extremely thin, with a face that would have been gorgeous forty   
years ago. Her thinning gray hair was swept back into a neat ponytail, her willowy body clothed in a   
flowing blue dress that seemed to be made of silk. It was her eyes that were the most fascinating; they were   
purple with tiny flecks of sapphire. There was an austere look in those eyes, and her thin, purplish-red lips   
forced themselves into a cheerless smile.  
"Patricia Jenner and Matthew Hawn, no?"   
"Yes," Trish agreed, surprised. Matt said nothing, his eyes as round as saucers. Christine's face looked as   
though it would crack if she kept up the grin, but somehow she managed it. With one spidery hand, she   
motioned back toward the room she had came from.   
"Jezelle has already called me," the old woman informed Trish, who winced at the overpowering smell of   
cinnamon and herbs that filled the room. There was even less furniture in this room, she noticed, struggling   
not to hold her nose. An old-fashioned couch, its wooden arms worn smooth by time, sat across from an   
overstuffed chair with cushions the color of wine. The only decoration was a faded poster of a summer   
night, an orange moon shining over a silent forest.   
Christine told them to sit down on the couch and lit a cigarette. The only light came from the burning tip   
of the cigarette as the elderly woman spoke slowly.  
"Jezelle has never lied to me before, so I know that the monster is real." She puffed at the cigarette , violet   
eyes glittering from behind the veil of smoke. "Besides, I saw it in a dream for myself." A brief spark of   
terror lit her eyes, then quickly vanished.   
"So what is it?" Trish asked, too eagerly.   
Christine did not answer right away, instead choosing to take a deep breath first.   
"It's a Heradus," she replied, watching their expression of bewilderment. "A creature that is the product of a   
burning desire for revenge. At least, I think that's what it is."   
"A Heradus? How come I've never heard of that?" Trish asked, sitting on the edge of the ratty couch.   
Christine chuckled. "Most people haven't, dear. They chose to ignore the darker things in life."  
Trish was silent.  
The woman left, then reappeared with a heavy book whose brown cover was falling off. She flipped   
through the brittle pages, and then handed the book over to the girl. The picture on the yellowed page made   
Trish shudder. Printed in red and black ink, the monsters on the page were a myriad amount of shapes,   
ranging from skeletal imps with crimson eyes to gangly beasts with scythe claws. The word Heradus, she   
saw, was on the top of the wrinkled page, and below it, its definition: the damned ones.  
"Heradus are trapped between life and death," the old woman said, watching Trish's expression as she shut   
the book. "From what I know, they were once mortal souls, but were transformed by a demon to serve   
some need." She chewed her lower lip. "Jezelle told me that it takes the parts of others for itself--a trait   
typical for that type of creature."  
"Did she also tell you about the Liber Antithei?"  
Christine shut her strange eyes, sighing. "I am afraid so. That book is probably what created it."  
"Is that how we stop it?"  
Christine nodded, opening her eyes quickly.  
"Where do we find it?" Matt inquired, speaking for the first time. The lavender eyes shifted to his face.   
"I don't know."  
"Jezelle says that it's here," Trish said, almost desperately.   
"Yes," the woman agreed. Her eyes rolled toward the ceiling as she mused about something. She blinked   
several times, then glanced over at the two visitors. She stood and left the room, beckoning them to follow.   
Obdiently they did so, where they saw Christine had snatched up a pendant, which flashed in the limited   
light.  
"Here," she simply replied, handing the jewelry to Trish, who studied it. The pendant was gaudy, with a   
brownish-yellow jewel in its center. An eye was crudely etched onto the striped stone, the heavy metal   
chain tarnished. To the girl, it looked like something from a cheap pawnshop.   
"Wha-what is it?"  
"Whatever it is, it's ugly," Matt commented. Christine pulled the cigarette from her mouth, cast a   
venomous look in his direction.   
"It's the Eye," she told them; then, noticing their confusion, she said, "Wear it when you sleep. It will show   
you the past, and all that you need to know." Trish nodded, wondering if she believed what the woman said   
and found that she did. Carefully, she slipped the find into her pocket, thanking Jezelle's friend. Christine   
escorted them outside, where she watched them drive off, lighting another cigarette as she did so.   
Please, she thought, praying to whatever god was listening, please, let them find the Heradus, before it's   
too late…She sensed that something was behind her as she closed the door, had time to turn her head when   
she heard the floorboard creak.   
Christine did not feel the pain as razor claws ripped through her belly, sending her glistening bowels to   
the floor in a waterfall of blood; all she did was look into the angry eyes of the winged beast, the cigarette   
falling from her slack mouth. 


	5. chapter 5

The motel that they decided to stay at was horrible beyond belief, the quilts on the beds stained and   
threadbare. But Trish paid no attention to it, plopping on the bed and putting the pendant around her neck.   
She didn't even bother to undress, instead pulling the ratty sheets over her body and turning on her side,   
shutting her eyes.  
"I'll stay awake," Matt offered. "Just in case something happens." She nodded, listening as he turned on the   
tiny television and fooled with the stations.  
The heavy weight of sleep fell over her like a comforting blanket, and she invited the warmth that spread   
down her arms. As the sound of Matt fiddling with the television set faded away, she heard a cricket by her   
ear and opened her eyes, startled. Much to her astonishment, she was no longer in her bed, but was now   
lying in a patch of dewy grass.   
She stood up, looking with a mixture of amazement and horror at the open night sky above her, the   
fingernail crescent of the moon casting a dim light on her surroundings. Trish clutched at the ugly pendant,   
knowing that it was responsible for brining her here, trying hard not to let fear overtake her as she saw the   
dark mansion looming in the distance.  
"It will show you the past, and all that you need to know." That was what Christine had told her earlier, and   
she tried to focus on that thought as she reluctantly headed toward the enormous house. Something told her   
that this was where she had to go, and she followed that feeling, her fingers grasping the glossy stone of the   
pendant for reassuranace.  
The huge oak doors, Trish noticed, were unlocked, and she went in. There were people everywhere in the   
great hallway, dressed in clothes that seemed to belong more in the mid eighteen hundreds than the present.   
They nonchalantly chatted among themselves, the soft glow of the chandeliers overhead illuminating their   
cheery faces. One portly man spotted her and, raising his half-filled wine glass, mirthfully called out,   
"Well, if it isn't Danielle! Having a nice time, my dear?"  
Danielle? Why did the bald man call her that?  
She saw the reason when she passed by a full length mirror, nearly gasping when she noticed her   
reflection. Other than the striped pendant around her slim throat, Trish did not resemble herself; instead,   
she looked like a middle-aged woman in a blue dress the color of the sky, her honey hair threaded with   
gray.   
Trish could not keep her eyes on the brass mirror, however; she felt drawn toward the grand staircase and   
hurried in that direction, trying to think. Somehow, some way, Danielle (whoever she was) had something   
to do with the monster, and she allowed the magic of the pendant to lead her up the stairs and to a room at   
the end of the hallway.   
When she opened the door, she saw two people on a large bed, their faces slick with sweat and contorted   
with surprise. One was a blonde, who was desperately trying to hide her naked body (and her ample   
breasts) by pulling up the tangled burgundy sheets, but her effort was in vain. The other person was a man,   
whose noble face was undermined by the fact that he had just been fornicating like a goat.  
She found herself listening to Danielle, whose body she seemed to have mysteriously found herself in,   
screaming something, her voice strangled with raw fury.   
"Angelique, you filthy whore! How could you? How could you? My own sister with my husband!"  
"Danielle," the woman pleaded, forgetting about the sheets and letting them drop, her large breasts with   
their brown nipples fully exposed, "I-,"  
"Shut up! Shut up!" Trish could her Danielle's voice trembling. She found herself running back outside,   
her heart pounding with rage. Trish struggled to regain control, listening to the chirping of crickets as she   
knelt in the dewy grass. Panting, she tried to recal what she witnessed. This woman, Danielle, had caught   
her husband cheating. But what did that have to do with the Creeper? "It's a Heradus. A creature that is the   
product of a burning desire for revenge." That was what Christine had said the monster was.  
Things were beginning to make sense, and she watched with gruesome fascination as events rapidly   
played out before her borrowed eyes like a movie. She saw Danielle turn to the supernatural for revenge,   
summoning some sort of demon. And the woman's vengeance was fulfilled when Angelique, the blonde-  
haired woman, gave birth to a monster.   
Jesus Christ, Trish thought, fighting back the urge to gag. Now she found herself watching the Creeper's   
life, seeing the memories of the creature that had murdered her brother. Much to her disgust, she felt its   
feelings--loneliness, mostly, and a bitterness like nothing she had ever experienced before. She looked on   
numbly until she spotted the girl with tinted glasses, who was standing by a gravestone. There was   
something familiar about this girl, the way she moved her head, the shape of her face. Now she experienced   
another emotion, this time a sad longing. The monster loved this girl, Natalie Fisher, Trish realized, but she   
could not summon any pity for the beast that had taken the lives of so many.  
The mansion. The image popped into her head, and she knew, with some kind of strange certainty, that the   
Creeper was headed back to its birthplace.   
Clenching the pendant in her fist, Trish opened her eyes, back in the motel room. Her heart thudded within   
her ribcage as she glanced around the small room. She saw the figure standing in the corner, half-hidden by   
the inky shadows, and at first thought it was Matt. But this person was too tall, and, as he stepped forward,   
she saw that he had blonde hair the color of a summer sun, much lighter than the policeman's. To say that   
he was attractive would have been an understatement, for he was the most handsome man she had ever laid   
her eyes on.  
"Who are you?" Trish demanded, pushing herself up. The handsome man did not answer; instead, a smile   
spread across his lean face, pale light playing over the black suit that he wore. Warily, Trish got out of bed,   
her heart fluttering. She could only make out the stranger in the dense darkness. His silhouette outlined   
against the window. There was, she noticed, a fierce gleam in his eyes as he headed toward her. She backed   
away, as a small rabbit would do before a ravenous fox.   
Trish tried to say something, anything, but she could not move her mouth. Her heart continued to thump   
like a trapped animal within a cage, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he grabbed onto her arms,   
his fingers nearly drawing blood. She found that she couldn't resist as his mouth made contact with hers,   
sending a strange sensation of fear and ecstasy through her body. She wasn't thinking as she tilted her   
vulnerable neck back, allowing his searching mouth to kiss the length of it. Any sense that she had left   
dissolved as she felt him yanking off her shirt, unclasping her confining bra.   
Good God, a voice shouted in her head. What are you doing? He's a stranger!  
But he's so handsome, she answered herself, feeling as if she were in a dream, without reason or   
consequence. Warmth spread through her lower regions as he gently brought her back down onto the bed,   
his deft tongue exploring the sensitive flesh of her breasts.  
She felt him rip off his trousers, and she ran her own lips over his warm cheeks, breathing in the heavy   
scent of male. He was about to enter her, and oh, God, how she wanted it! Until the light hit his hair, and   
she marveled at how it was the same gold color as Angelique's, and his eyes, such a pale blue, just like…  
…like the Creeper's.   
Her wail startled them both, and then she was on her side, Matt shaking her, face tense.   
"Are you okay?" He kept questioning, his expression one of deep concern.  
She did not answer at first, nervously playing with her pendant instead.   
"It worked."  
"What?" He asked, confused.   
"The Eye." She took off the gaudy pendant, afraid to wear it any longer. The light from the street streamed   
through the window, making the polished gem glitter.   
"It did?"Matt sat down on the edge of her bed.   
"Yeah. I know where the monster's going." Trish leaned forward, recounting her surreal dream to Matt. She   
didn't tell him about the erotic part, partly out of embarrassment and partly out of the sheer terror she felt at   
recalling it.   
"Where's it going?"  
"Marsille." She was shocked at how the name of the town just popped into her head. Gazing down at the   
striped stone hanging from its chain, she said, " It's a small town near here. The creature's going home."  
  
Fat raindrops splashed down onto the windshield of the car, splitting up into tiny rivers that ran down the   
glass. Trish leaned forward in the driver's seat, trying to see through the wall of rain. They had arrived at   
Marsille a few hours ago, but the heavy rain had made it difficult to find anything. And to make matters   
worse, there had been several old plantation houses dotting the streets.  
"We don't have much time," Trish informed Matt, seeing his eyebrow arch as she said this.   
"The creature's only awake for a few days. Then it goes back into hibernation," she explained as she   
squinted through the windshield.   
When Trish abruptly slammed down on the brakes, Matt was thrown forward, nearly hitting his head on the   
dashboard. He glanced over at the girl whose large eyes were wide with wonder. He didn't know it, but she   
was looking at the mansion from straight out of the dream. True, there were some differences; the house   
had been repainted an off-white, and a driveway now cut across the huge lawn, two cars parked on it. But   
overall, it was still the same mansion, and Trish got out of the car, heading toward it.  
The cloudy sky had grown darker, now a deep red that seemed to glow. It illuminated the manicured lawn,   
turning the grass scarlet as Matt cut across it, following Trish. She hurried toward the front door, stopping   
when she saw that it was already open. Although there were no lights on inside, she could just barely make   
out a bod sprawled out in a dried puddle of blood. Whether the person had been male or female, she   
couldn't be sure; the body was mangled beyond all recognition.   
"It's here," she whispered. Matt was about to say something, saw the carcass. He covered his mouth with   
his hands, trying hard not to vomit. Trish, however, went inside, stepping over the body and glancing   
warily around. The air inside the mansion was thick with the cloying odor of blood, and she tried to breathe   
through her mouth. She heard Matt come up behind her, and together they slowly went down one of the   
passageways.  
Up ahead, something scratched behind a closed door. Trish rushed ahead to see what it was, leaving Matt   
behind.Eagerly, she pulled open the door, expecting to see anything but a large raven, its beady eyes   
catching the limited light. The bird looked up at her, chirped, ruffled its black feathers. The room , some   
kind of parlor, was empty.   
"Stupid raven," she hissed, watching as the animal tilted its ebony head at her, its eyes glittering with   
unnatural intelligence. So unnerving was its stare that she had to turn away. She was startled when she saw   
that Matt was no longer behind her.   
"Matt?"  
There was no answer. Her eyes darted frantically back and forth as she searched for him. There was no sign   
of the officer,and the old feeling of loss swelled up in her throat.   
No, no, not again.  
She began opening doors, calling his name. He's gone, she thought, just like Darry. She opened the last   
door, her heart stopping a beat when she saw the blood splattered on the floor, forming a trail into the next   
room.The blood was fresh too--it was still the distintive crimson color.   
Time seemed to slow down as she hesistantly forced herself to check out the next room, following the   
grsily trail.   
She saw the large lump on the floor, gagged when she saw that it was Matt. He had been horribly mutilated,   
his neck a ragged mess of bloody flesh and broken bone. Choking back the tears, she turned away, unable   
to bear the stare of his glazed eyes.   
"Trish." She heard her name and blinked. It sounded just like Matt.   
"Matt?"  
The huge shape silently crept out of the shadows, its bat wings flared ever so slightly. Its dark eyes, Darry's   
eyes, glittered in the candlelight, its mottled lips pulled back, yellow teeth wet with slime. When it spoke,   
it was in Matt's voice, a fact that made her skin crawl with goosebumps and her stomach churn.   
"Trish, I've waited so long…"  
She backed away, right into the thickening pool of Matt's blood.   
"You bastard," she hissed softly. "You killed Matt, you rotten bastard."   
The Creeper, she saw, was no longer clad in the black trench coat it was so fond of; now, its scaled skin   
shone blue-green in the gold light as it slid toward her, crouching like a hungry fox before a hen.   
"Don't be afraid, my dear. I won't harm you."  
"Shut up!" She screeched, unable to hold back her anger. Eyes smoldering with pure fury, Trish dove at   
the monster, only to be tossed aside.   
She smacked her head on the wooden floor, pain coursing through her body as white stars flashed before   
her eyes. The enormous demon growled and, with superhuman speed, pinned her to the ground. Hot,   
decaying breath blew down on her face as she gasped, her arms and legs caught under the thing's   
tremendous weight. Its brown eyes were wide with triumph and, oh God, lust. She gritted her teeth and   
tried not to breathe in its reek as it lightly ran its leathery lips over her cheeks.   
"You are so lovely," it said in the voice that it had stolen.   
"Get off of me!"  
The ugly monster bent closer to her face again, and she took the opportunity to bite in on the nose. Putrid   
flesh and fine dust filled her mouth and she felt the heavy weight disappear from her limbs as the creature   
pulled away, yelping in pain.   
She bolted for the nearest door, went through and locked it, panting. Jesus Christ, she thought, wiping   
her face and shuddering at the thought of those wrinkled lips touching her bare skin.  
"Trish, are you alright?" Someone asked, concerned. She felt her eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets   
when she saw Matt, completely unscathed, grinning at her from across the room.   
"M-M-Matt?"  
"Of course. You look like you've just seen a ghost."   
"You're d-dead."  
"Dead? What are you talking about?"   
He certainly didn't look dead; his skin was rosy with life, clothes free of the thick blood that had been   
staining them. His eyes, though. They were so cold, so void of anything human, sparkling with malice.   
"You're not Matt." She was surprised at how calmly she said this.   
"Astute girl! You certainly are a clever one."  
"Who the hell are you?"  
Matt, or rather, his impostor, replied, " I have no name, Patricia. I am far, far too old for one."   
Trish felt tentacles of fear snake through her as she studied Matt's impostor.   
"What do you want?" Even as she uttered these words, she knew. "You're the demon that Danielle   
summoned--,"   
The dark entity stopped grinning.  
"Go away, child. You don't know what you're dealing with," it rasped. Trish gazed past it at the white   
pentagram drawn on the floor, a red book sitting within it.   
It looked like she had just found the Book of the Devil.   
"Run away, little girl," the demon commanded, its face twisted.   
She hoped that what she was about to say was right.   
"You can't hurt me," she declared, watching as the demon's fury grew. The face of Matt's impostor   
collapsed into a sphere of blackness, a dull, inky pool of darkness that absorbed all of the meager light in   
the room. The entity, however, did not move toward her.  
"I can give you anything you desire if you leave," it told her, its voice falsely pleasant. "Anything at all,   
child. Eternal beauty, wealth, power. I will grant you fondest wish if you just leave." The demon saw the   
stubborn look in Trish's eyes and it whispered in a seductive voice, "I can even bring your brother back."  
"Darry?"  
"Yes, yes. I will give him back to you, my dear."  
Trish felt a knot form in her stomach as despair threatened to take control. The shadowy creature, sensing   
her unsureness, slithered forward.   
"I know how much you miss him," it said, its blackhole of a head inches from her own. She backed up   
against the door.   
Trish opened her mouth, lips dry, and then blinked.   
"Fuck you."  
The demon was obviously surprised, even if it had no facial features to indicate so.   
"You can't stop me," she replied, ready to march toward the crimson book and burn it until it was nothing   
more than gray ashes.   
"No," the entity responded coolly, "But he can."  
Two huge arms smashed through the door, sending slivers of wood everywhere as they wrapped around her   
fragile throat.   
She gagged and tried to pry the gray hands off, but to no avail.   
"Stupid girl, you should have listened to him," a voice, feminine, called out, and she saw the gaunt figure   
separate itself from the shadows, materializing from out of nowhere. Once, Trish would have called her a   
woman, but now she was an emaciated skeleton, greenish skin stretched so tightly that she could make out   
every bone. The deep eye sockets were empty, the ghastly skin pulled so tightly around the mouth that the   
ghoul had a permanent, hideous smile. Under the leathery dress (which, much to Trish's horror, appeared to   
be sewn from human skin) there seemed to be no substance, as though the macabre garment floated by   
itself.  
There was a vague resemblance to the woman she had saw during the dream, the person that had first   
called upon the demon.  
"Danielle," she managed to say, as the Creeper broke down the rest of the door to come in.   
"In the flesh," the gruesome creature said in a Southern drawl.   
"You don't have to do this," Trish pleaded and Danielle laughed.   
"I gave up my humanity long ago when I made that bargain. Now he and I are one." The hollow sockets   
turned first toward the the faceless demon, then toward the Creeper, and finally toward the hellish book.   
"That is why he needs to recite the spell that will bring Hell to earth."  
Now it all made sense. The demon (and Danielle) needed someone with free will to open the portal using   
the book, and the Creeper was perfect for the task. Afterall, he was at least half-human.  
Trish was tied up with rough rope, watching helplessly as Danielle moved toward the Creeper and   
motioned to the crimson book.   
"Recite the spell," she commanded, disgusting black goo spilling from her stretched mouth. Trish looked on   
as it did so, opening the evil book and pronouncing the Latin within.   
"Wait," she shrieked, fully surprised when the Creeper gazed over at her, book in hands. It blinked   
rapidly, its expression the same as the night when it had taken Darry.   
"Don't listen to her," Danielle ordered.  
"But she looks so much like her," it protested.  
Her. Natalie. Of course. The mystery as to why the monster had not chosen her was solved. Patricia Jenner   
reminded the creature of Natalie Fisher, that blind girl from so many years back. That was why she had   
looked so familiar in the dream.   
Trish squirmed against the ropes, trying her best not to let her hatred for the Creeper show on her face.   
"I saw you in my dream," she said, stalling for time. "You were supposed to be a normal man. But Danielle   
sold her soul in order to get her revenge, and she dragged you into it."  
"She's lying!" Danielle screeched, her voice tinged with fear. The Creeper said nothing, but did not open   
the book, its eyes focued entirely on Trish. Despite Danielle's protests, she continued. "I'm telling the truth.   
You're a Heradus, right? That means that you were once mortal. And you would have been, if it wasn't for   
her." Her voice lowered. "You wouldn't have been alone for such a long time."  
Something gleamed within the Creeper's dark eyes when she said this, and, for several seconds, she felt a   
deep pity for the ugly monster. But Trish also knew how many people this thing had so callously murdered,   
how many families that it had left shattered. The Creeper had first taken Darry from her, then Matt. And it   
would kill more, regardless of whether or not the victims had ever done anything to it.  
So she gritted her teeth, kept her anger fettered as she slowly said, "I saw what you were supposed to look   
like." She swallowed, afraid to continue. "Don't listen to her. Danielle has hurt you more than anyone else   
has.Please, let me go."  
"Nooo!" Danielle's savage cry cut through the air as the Creeper hesistated once, then dropped the book,   
moving swiftly toward Trish. When she felt the monster untie the thick ropes, she reached up, loathing the   
enormous thing that towered over her. But she made herself smile, the light from the candles illuminating   
her soft cheeks. Trish reached up, carefully ran one finger over the monster's brow. Darry's killer sighed   
with pleasure, closed its eyes, and touched her silky hair. When her hand dropped and she practically leapt   
upon the liber antithei, its eyes snapped open. Without doubt,it realized Trish's intentions, even as Danielle   
howled with disbelief and the entity moved toward them.  
Christine had instructed her to burn the wicked book, the same one that had created the living   
nightmare,and she did exactly that. Crouching low, she held the the heavy spellbook over one of the candle,   
grinning as the dry pages burst into bright flame. The monster's mouth dropped open, and it made a   
whining sound. Fascinated, Trish observed, with calm detachment, as the creature went up into flames as   
well, its gray skin flaking off as the fire consumed it. Then, within a few short seconds, the Creeper had   
transformed back into its human form, and Trish found herself looking at the man in her dreams. He   
writhed in agony, his pale eyes pleading; but she did not move to help, only stomped on the book to send   
gray ashes flying everywhere.   
As the monster fell to the floor, thrashing, she saw the lights leave its body. Thin beams of white light   
which, she somehow knew, were the souls of all that the bastrad had so greedily consumed. One of them   
was her brother, and another was Matt. She closed her eyes, feeling a single tear run down her face, not out   
of sadness but joy.  
Danielle stopped wailing. Now, silently, she melted back into the shadows as the Creeper disappeared in a   
ball of vivid light. The only things left was the burning book, which had been reduced to a black crisp, and   
the demon. It watched Trish, trying to size her up, to see if it could tempt her any further.When it saw, to its   
disappoinmtment, that it couldn't, it morphed into a black raven and vanished into oblivion.   
Trish stood there for a while, then headed toward the doorway, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted   
from her sagging shoulders. Sunlight, she saw, was streaming in through the windows as she made her way   
out of the house. It had stopped raining. With a tiny smile, she went outside to greet the sun. 


End file.
